


Hard To Swallow

by lyrisey



Series: The Thousand Crimes of Taylor Hebert [3]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24581146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyrisey/pseuds/lyrisey
Summary: A story about appetites.
Series: The Thousand Crimes of Taylor Hebert [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158749
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	Hard To Swallow

An hour is too long for lunch.

An hour is too long for _anything._

My name is Taylor Hebert, and I feel fucking _amazing_.

Seconds pass like non-Newtonian kidney stones, first hard and studly, jutting and slightly bristling like Armsmaster's five-o'clock shadow in the swimsuit calendar I hide under my mattress; then soft and fluid, yielding like Photon Mom's curves in the _other_ swimsuit calendar I've got stashed under my pillow.

Yes, I'm a thirsty girl. Shut up.

Seconds _fall_ like precipitation that can't decide whether it's rain or hail, spatter-clattering across the tarmac of my consciousness, clinging to the surface of my mind like Greg Veder after you've given him a compliment as Gladly jokes about 'how it hurts-to-go-vinia.'

Urinary tract infections are no joke, 'Mr. G.' No place in World Affairs.

Madison turns towards me in slow-motion, mouth opening to dispense some bit of teenage wisdom both trenchant and tawdry.

I lean over, _all_ the way over, coil my tongue around her pencil and smoothly bite off the eraser, my teeth cutting through the ferrule like the mention of teen pregnancy cuts through a dinner table conversation.

She, naturally, shuts right the fuck up, and I _smile_ , sharp and bright and dangerous, lifting my chin a little so she can watch as I swallow with impossible smoothness.

* * *

...I suppose I should explain how all this started, shouldn't I?

One week ago, I was in the third-floor girl's bathroom, propped up on the seat like one of Greg's super-shitty anime expies of Sherlock Holmes and choking down another Depression Tube of pita bread and whatever the hell else I managed to stuff in there.

All of a sudden, some nerd from outside the universe tried to self-insert into me (I know, _gross_ , right?), only it turns out a year of mental trauma makes me into a fucking _psychic tiger_ compared to some egg-lily-white neckbeard who thinks he can come into _my_ head without paying the toll.

I crushed his mind like a geoduck under the tires of a 1967 Lincoln Continental (that's the heaviest American car ever made- the Lincoln, not the geoduck. That's a clam.).

He was screaming something about _Invictus_ as I tore his psyche to pieces and made his knowledge my own; I mean, Long John Silver's a great poet, but _that's_ the hill you're going to die on?

Weird.

* * *

Armsmaster sat across the table from me, one gauntleted hand wrapped around the other, his posture like an antenna calibrated to broadcast patient paternality.

(What, you thought this was the kind of narrative where we take a break from things happening just because we had a little flashback? Get on my level, scrub, because there's no pennies on the rails of this little choo-choo.)

"Miss Hebert," he starts again, and I can _taste_ his frustration. "You _bit off_ your classmate's finger, using a parahuman ability. You do not have _leverage_ , a position to negotiate from, and the laws you have violated-"

"I have Sophia's finger," I chirp brightly as I pat my tummy. "And she wants it back, _and_ I'm willing to turn it over, with conditions. We can all get what we want here, Armsdaddy."

He radiates discomfort, and I stare at his chin and mourn the fact that he's cleanshaven today. Way to ruin a girl's dreams, Colin.

"-Hebert?"

I blink. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Your conditions," he grits, and I can hear something pop inside his armor. "What _are_ they?"

"Oh!" I beam across the table at him. "I will turn over her finger to Shadow Stalker, and her only."

He relaxes slightly.

"And she has to take it from me with both of her hands and all ten of her fingers." I pause for effect. "Oh, and I walk free."

I hear one of his fillings pop. Poor guy.

Maybe Dragon can cybernetically enhance him and feed him soft foods like Robocop?

* * *

It turns out Panacea can't replace things I've bitten off. Neat.

I walk out of the PRT, scot-free and one finger lighter.

* * *

Hess corners me the next day, fists up the collar of my shirt, pushes me back against the wall; I contemplate licking her hand to establish dominance, but I'd have to break eye contact to do that.

Choices, choices.

"Hebert," she growls, her dark eyes intent on my eyes, which are also dark. "You've got _guts_ ," she says, her tone both triumphant and conciliatory, like she's found a piece of chocolate in a sampler box that appeals to tastes she never knew she had. "How would you like to lead the Wards?"

* * *

I sit on the roof of the PRT building; Madison sits on my lap and hand-feeds me scraps I stole from Kid Win's tinker bin while he watched.

The view is worth all the doorknobs I had to eat to get up here.

The taste is indescribable.


End file.
